


McMurdo

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Crying, Fake Science, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Martin Whump, Memories, Shippy Gen, fake time travel, i'm honestly not sure how to tag for this, it was all a dream, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: An argument between Arthur and Martin, a headache, and the disappearance of the rest of the MJN crew during the last hours of a very long flight.





	McMurdo

**Author's Note:**

> last night i had a dream which was basically the star trek tng episode "Remember Me" but happening to martin and i spent the afternoon writing this in between doing laundry so that's what's going on with me today

“I’m telling you, Skip, if you fly into the north or south poles in just the right way you can travel through time.” 

“I— look, Arthur, technically flying over any time zones is always travelling through time, just because they all converge at the poles doesn’t mean you can  _ literally _ travel through time, it’s not like science fiction or something—”

“But what if it is?” Arthur bounced a little on the balls of his feet. 

“But it isn’t.” 

“But it might be. Just because we haven’t personally done it doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Martin rounded on Douglas, who was sitting stretched out in the first officer’s seat and sipping the tea Arthur had brought him five minutes earlier, watching the argument with a sort of detached amusement. “Back me up, Douglas, please.” 

Douglas took a long drink of tea. “No.” 

Martin threw his hands in the air.

“I’m sorry, it just seems like a really fun idea. Like, what if the way you travel back in time at the poles is by flying upside down? Or by crossing the pole at exactly midnight?” 

“I know you’re stupid, Arthur, but are you actually—"

“Arthur, why don’t you go tell Carolyn about this? We won’t be near McMurdo for another three or four hours, at least.” Douglas cut in at last, and Martin shot him a grateful look as Arthur bounded out of the flight deck. 

“Thank you.” Martin said in a clipped tone as he picked up his own coffee. 

“My pleasure.” Douglas said in the sort of tone that communicated it hadn’t been at all but that he was humoring Martin. “Although I don’t see why you wanted him to stop, it’s not as though we have anything better to entertain us transporting supplies to an Antarctic research station.” 

Martin hummed his displeasure. “I’m not sure why he and Carolyn wanted to come along at all, we offered to make the trip without them.” 

“What would we possibly do for twelve hours without Arthur popping in scintillate us with his theories about Antarctica and time travel?” Something about Douglas’s tone made Martin wince. 

“It’s just…” Martin wasn’t sure what it  _ was just, _ other than that he was tired and irritable and they had another long day flying back from the south pole tomorrow. 

“Any particular reason you wish you were alone in this tin can on the way to the icy tundra?” Douglas asked when he didn’t finish the thought. 

“I don’t.” Martin insisted. “I’m just tired. Got a headache.” 

“I’ll drive for a bit, if you like.” 

“There isn’t really anything that needs doing right now.” 

“Just keeping an eye on things?”

Martin nodded. “Do you think I ought to apologize?” 

Douglas gave him a blank look. “For what?” 

“Never mind.” Martin finished his coffee and stood up from his seat. “Maybe you should take over for a few minutes.” 

“Alright.” Douglas’s tone had gone dubious and concerned. “If you need pain relievers there’s some in the kit in the galley.” 

“I know, thanks.” Martin flashed him a tight smile and headed out of the flight deck. His head was positively pounding, actually, but he still ought to apologize for the cheap shot at Arthur. Whatever problems Martin was having, being tired or achy or whatever else, it wasn’t right to take it out on Arthur’s enthusiasm. 

The kit in the galley had five ibuprofen in it, and Martin took two and made a mental note to make sure it was restocked at the next opportunity. Then he passed out the other side of the galley and looked down the cabin in confusion. 

“Carolyn?” 

“Hello, Martin. Taking a little break from flying the plane, are we?” 

Martin glanced sideways into the unoccupied loo. 

“Er, Carolyn.” Martin began, thinking as he did that there had to be a rational explanation for what he thought he was witnessing and that he’d be relieved when his boss inevitably made fun of him for it. “Where’s Arthur?” 

The cabin was empty apart from Carolyn, fifteen empty seats and an empty loo, and unless Arthur had squeezed himself into the cupboards in the galley there was no way Martin could have missed him coming through. 

Carolyn’s eyebrows drew together. “Arthur?” She repeated. “Who is Arthur?” 

For a moment Martin gaped at her, and then he gave a very forced laugh. “Very funny, Carolyn, and I suppose I deserve it for being in such a snit all day. Where’s Arthur, I want to apologize for being rude to him just a bit ago.” 

Carolyn stood up and moved to get a closer look at him. “Have you been in the booze? Are you feeling poorly?” She prodded his chest and he winced back. 

“What? No! Well, I’m not feeling terrific, I’ve just had a few painkillers for a headache, but—"

“That must be some headache, if you’ve imagined a whole new member of MJN and come back here to confront me about it.” Carolyn gave a sniff. “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” 

“Of course not!” Martin said, rather shrilly, but he was starting to be seriously annoyed now. “Carolyn, enough, I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. Where is Arthur?” 

“I’m not in the mood, either, Martin, so again I say: who?” 

Martin laughed again, feeling slightly hysterical. “Your son, Arthur Shappey. Blond hair, about this tall, has the demeanor of a golden retriever puppy? A bit stupid but endlessly enthusiastic? He’s the steward, for god’s sake, he just brought me and Douglas coffee.” 

“ _ I _ brought you and Douglas coffee.” Carolyn said with a raised eyebrow. “We don’t have a steward and I  _ certainly  _ don’t have a son.” Her eyes swept him up and down and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Martin, I think you’d better sit down, you look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“Oh, stop it. This isn’t funny.” Martin snapped, and he ducked into the loo and slammed the door. 

The rest of MJN had played some very unfunny jokes in Martin’s time with them, he thought as he lowered himself onto the closed seat of the toilet and rubbed at his eyes with slightly shaky fingertips, but this really went above and beyond. When he figured out where Arthur was hiding onboard GERTI he was going to apologize profusely for making fun of him about time travel and parallel dimensions and then he was going to shout at him.

Unless… 

Martin looked up at the mirror over the sink in the tiny bathroom. He looked pale and exhausted, and the tiniest bit afraid. What if— and it was a very big if but then, strange things happened on this aeroplane all the time and a brief dip into strange and annoying and scientifically impossible rather than merely strange and annoying would be just about par for the course as far as forcing Martin to rethink his life and decisions went— what if Arthur had been onto something talking about time zones converging and natural laws working differently? What if they had flown into some sort of—

No. No, it was infinitely more probable they were all playing a trick on him of some sort, or that he was having a migraine so bad he was misunderstanding things, or even, he was willing to concede, he was actually at home asleep in bed, having a very realistic nightmare (although not  _ that _ realistic, come to think of it. Why would a small charter plane from England be hired to take supplies to an American research base in Antarctica?). 

No, whatever was going on had a rational explanation, and Martin splashed some water on his face and took several deep breaths before stepping out of the loo. He looked up and down the cabin and determined Carolyn must have gone up front to see Douglas. He made his way back through the galley and onto the flight deck and stopped short. 

Only Douglas was up there. He turned slightly at Martin’s reentry and gave him a warm smile. 

“Did you take something for your headache?” 

“I…” Martin’s eyes roved over the whole of the flight deck. “Yes.” He sat down in the seat Douglas had just vacated and glanced over the instrument readings. All normal, which presented him with the unavoidable conclusion that there was something wrong with him rather than something wrong with the rest of the universe. 

“And are you feeling better?” Douglas prompted with an edge of impatience in his voice. 

“I… I’m not, actually.” Martin confessed, turning to look at Douglas. “I’m sorry I was such a berk earlier but I don’t like this and I wish you all would let up now.” 

Douglas shifted forward in his chair so he could reach across and take Martin’s chin, tilt his face to examine him despite Martin’s protests. 

“Well, you don’t look like you’ve hit your head so I’d appreciate it if you could explain to me what it is you think you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever game this is!” Martin insisted. “Carolyn and Arthur hiding! Pretending they’ve disappeared. Joke’s over, ha ha, you’ve wound me up now let’s just—"

The plane gave a great shuddering jerk and Martin let out a yelp. Douglas turned back to his controls and began flicking through things. “I’m stabilizing us, don’t worry, it’s fine.” 

“Fine?” Martin shouted. He was taking in his own instrument readings with horror and confusion. “We’ve lost about half our fuel! How on Earth are we supposed to get to McMurdo on so little?” 

“McMurdo’s only another half hour or so away, we’ll be alright.” Douglas said, sounding very frustrated. “Everything’s under control.” 

“No, no it’s not, because either Carolyn and Arthur are missing and we’ve just gotten three hours closer to our destination in about thirty minutes or you are all laboring under the delusion that making the captain of a plane flying over the arctic question reality is a funny way to pass the time!” Martin snapped. His head was pounding again. 

Douglas made a motion like he was about to reach out and pull Martin into a hug but had thought better of it. “Martin.” he said, soothingly, “I promise you, I’m not trying to play some sort of trick on you.” 

“Then Carolyn and Arthur really are missing. Oh, god.” Martin swallowed, feeling himself wanting to cry and trying to force it back down again. 

Douglas was as close to him as he could possibly be while still maintaining the pretense of sitting in his chair. “Martin.” He repeated, so softly, “Martin, I’m sorry. Whatever’s gotten you so worked up, I’m sorry.” 

“Arthur and Carolyn!” Martin shouted. “And the bloody fuel, and the lost three hours! How can we be nearly there and where are the rest of MJN?” 

“ _ We’re _ MJN.” Douglas grasped his hand, his eyes roving over Martin’s face, his expression barely contained panic and a horrible concern that made something in Martin ache with sudden tenderness towards his first officer. “The two of us, together. It’s our plane and our company.” 

“It isn’t! Look, why would you and I have ever chosen to work together? We didn’t even like each other when we met!” 

Douglas blinked and looked rather hurt. “I liked you.” 

“You really didn’t.” 

Douglas sat back in his chair. “Why don’t I make you some coffee?"

“What? No, don’t leave.” Martin caught Douglas’s wrist as he stood up. “Whatever’s going on, don’t leave the flight deck and disappear, too, Douglas, please. I don’t…” Martin swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone up here.” 

Douglas looked down at him, and Martin was struck, suddenly, by what this must look like from his point of view. How Martin must look delusional, untethered, in the midst of some sort of psychotic break, and he sighed, very tired all of a sudden. “Please stay.” 

Douglas patted Martin’s shoulder. “I’ll only be gone a moment.” And he swept from the flight deck, leaving Martin to scream in frustration. 

For a moment, he could hear Douglas clattering around in the galley, and then the sounds of him making coffee stopped. 

“Douglas?” Martin called. There was no answer.

He turned back to the controls and flicked on the intercom. “Douglas, please come back to the flight deck.” He didn’t even try to keep the pleading edge out of his voice. Several long moments of silence met the request. “Douglas.” 

Martin pressed the button for the cabin address. “Douglas, come  _ back _ . I— oh, god. Douglas?” 

Silence. 

The tears that had been forcing their way up Martin’s throat for the last ten minutes came to a head, and he cried, feeling it stream hot down his face as he tried to take stock of the situation. Douglas, Carolyn and Arthur had vanished somehow. They were only twenty minutes out from McMurdo despite the fact they’d definitely been about four hours away half an hour ago. Martin’s headache was pounding away behind his eyes, and this had all started after he’d gotten up to take something for it, but no. It had actually started just before, because he’d asked Douglas if he thought he should apologize to Arthur, and Douglas had looked at him like he didn’t know what he was talking about. 

It wasn’t the headache, and it wasn’t the ibuprofen, and it probably wasn’t the coffee although who could tell, honestly, but it couldn’t _be_ the coffee because Martin was positive he oughtn’t to have been able to have flown to Antarctica by himself. He couldn’t have imagined the rest of MJN and he couldn’t be having some sort of stress-induced break from reality because there was no way he could be in this situation at all without the others. They had simply vanished, and Arthur had been right, somehow, about time travel, and now Martin was about to land a plane full of supplies alone on a bit of ice.

He turned on the radio. 

“Golf Tango India to McMurdo, please respond.” No response came. “McMurdo, I am preparing for descent.” The words came out harsh and rough, and anger was beginning to replace fear as the source of Martin’s tears. “McMurdo.” He snapped. 

There wasn’t even static. There was just nothing. Martin swore and shut off the radio. 

The instrument readings didn’t make any sense. According to what he was seeing, there was no land anywhere. He was flying over an endless expanse of ocean, an and on through the dark. There weren’t even any clouds out the window. He couldn’t land, because there was nowhere to land, and there was nobody to help, and he was completely, utterly alone.

Martin laid his head down on the control panel and sobbed. 

“Martin? We’re there.” Someone was shaking him gently by the shoulder, someone was murmuring soothingly to him. Someone was brushing his hair back to feel his forehead, careful fingers against his skin. Martin opened his eyes. 

“Douglas?” 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sound so pleased to see me.” Douglas teased, sitting down in the seat beside where Martin was nestled under a blanket. “Feeling better?” 

“I—” Martin blinked at him, taking in his surroundings. He was reclining in the first row of seats on GERTI, who was quiet and calm, all the sounds and vibrations from the engines still. His head still hurt but it was no longer the all-consuming, painful muddle it had been earlier. Out the windows he could see the floodlights of the airport and just barely make out figures unloading the supplies from the cargo hold. “Yeah, I am.” Without really thinking he reached out to take Douglas’s hand, and Douglas’s eyes widened minutely. 

“Had a bit of a migraine induced nightmare, did we?” He asked, something serious and careful behind the lightness of his tone. 

“Yes.” Martin shuddered. “Are Arthur and Carolyn—” 

“Helping unload the cargo. They’ll be done in a bit and then we’re all going to go get a good night’s sleep and  _ you’re _ going to get checked out by McMurdo Station’s doctor.” Douglas used his free hand to tap very lightly on Martin’s forehead. “You gave me quite a scare,  _ dear _ , collapsing on the flight deck like that.” 

Douglas’s tone was teasing, mocking even, and yet there was something unmistakably protective in the set of his jaw, the look in his eyes. Something in the endearment that suddenly seemed terribly earnest, and Martin wondered if it always had been, somehow. 

“I’ll endeavor not to do it again,  _ darling _ .” Martin shot back, and Douglas’s lips twitched in amusement as he stood up and pulled Martin to his feet. 

There was a clamor from the doorway and a huge gust of cold air swept in as Arthur and Carolyn joined them in the cabin. “Ah, Martin, glad you’re back on your feet again.” Carolyn said, shooting Douglas a look that said plainly she gave him no credit whatsovever for this. “Such a pity it took until we were done unloading the plane and Douglas couldn’t help because he was keeping an eye on you.” 

“Well, you know our dear captain’s well-being is of the utmost importance to me—” Douglas began, and Carolyn made a shushing sound. 

“Yes, alright. We’re done unloading and there’s food waiting for us all inside the station.” 

Arthur handed two long puffy coats to Douglas and Martin. “Wrap up, chaps, it’s almost fifty below out there.” He said with his usual good cheer. 

“Arthur, I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.” Martin said as he pulled his coat on and stuck his hands in the pockets to see if there were gloves. There were. 

Arthur shrugged, his demeanor not changing at all. “It’s alright, skip, you were ill.” 

“Yes, but all the same, I shouldn’t have been so rude.” He cleared his throat, determinedly not looking at anyone as he put his gloves on. “You lot are my friends and I’d miss you awfully if anything happened to any of you.”   
  
“Something is going to happen to  _ all  _ of you if you don’t get off my plane and into the station so we can have a hot meal.” Carolyn said, and Martin grinned. He followed Douglas and the others off of GERTI, four little figures making their way across the ice and towards shelter. 

**Author's Note:**

> i guess i live here now. if you want to watch me make ten posts a day where i holler about Douglas and Martin by quoting lines and then screaming in the tags you can follow me under mirawonderfulstar on tumblr


End file.
